


in search of us (oh, the answers i'll find)

by whataboutateakettle



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: the shiny, sparkly elephant in the room was just too big for him to ignore // toby and happy climb a mountain (hill) and find the same page on the way





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggiemaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggiemaye/gifts).



> 1) A Secret Santa gift for [ Maggie ](http://fatesofstarlight.tumblr.com/). She wanted something Toby-centric and while I'm pretty sure this is not what you expected I hope you enjoy it anyway :)
> 
> 2) Set between 3x02 and 3x03, and trying to take into account for the time gap the season left us with
> 
> 3) I'll admit, this was largely inspired by me trying to figure out why Happy and Toby would have eaten roadside pie 43 miles away from the garage (mentioned in 3x05)
> 
> 4) The title was low-key inspired by [ this song by To Kill A King ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0_glXU9qCI) which I listened to a lot while writing this.

Her workbench is a mess of wires and metal and spare solar cells, and he wonders how much longer it’s going to take her to finish the job. It was her idea, although everyone was surprised they hadn’t thought of it sooner. And it’ll save them money, which is always a good thing.

It’s also something for her to focus on between cases. Walter always has projects going on, and Sylvester’s been working on his anxiety which Toby would encourage more if he stopped trying to include them in it. And he’s been searching for Happy’s husband.

At first he’d tried to move past it. He does, despite everything, trust Happy; he knows that she has a reason not to tell him. But the shiny, sparkly elephant in the room is just too big for him to ignore, so he’s been trying to work it out. He’s smart, resourceful, has read enough Agatha Christie novels to know that his powers of deduction are pretty sharp.

Honestly, he thought he’d have figured it out by now.

He’s got one more idea, one last clue to call on, one he hoped he’d never have to use. He’s been putting it off for a million different reasons, including that he still sometimes has weird dreams about floss. He tells himself he’ll call tomorrow, to see if they’ll let him talk.    

Happy crouches down behind her bench, looking for something, and he takes the chance to dash across the room. He’s waiting in front of her when she stands back up, welding helmet in her hand.

“What is that?” She asks slowly, narrowing her eyes.

“A hiking pack,” he replies. It’s one he dug out from the back of the garage somewhere, thankful once again that they never seem to throw anything away.

“I can see that. Why do you have it?” Her jaw tightens a little bit, so he can tell that she’s confused. And he knows she doesn’t like being confused.

He grins, excited to reveal his plan. “I thought we could go on a hike. You and me.”

She narrows her eyes even further, and fine, maybe he gets her suspicion a little. “ _You_ want to go on a hike? You think lifting groceries is exercise.”

He’d said that _once_.

But he’s still excited, because he’s thought this through, and done his research, and boy was it great to google something other than names. He holds out his phone with his other hand, shows her the screen. She’ll recognize the park, barely an hour away; he’s pretty sure she’s been there before.

She looks at him again, “You hate hiking,” she reminds him.

He feels himself nod instinctively, but he tries to shake it off quickly. “But you don’t. You love it! I mean you spend most of your time in the right footwear anyway.”

She glances down at her shoes, then back to the pack in his hand, considering it.

After a moment, she lowers the welding helmet onto the bench, steps from behind it and nods, “Let me get changed.”

* * *

He gets changed while she does, and waits at his desk for her. She moves towards him, hair now in a ponytail, jacket ditched. She even changed her boots.

“Hey Walt, Happy and I are taking the day off,” he calls out, loud enough to make sure Walter hears them, wherever he is.

He’s at his desk, it turns out. He looks up over his computer, frowns at both of them. “Wh-what if there’s a case? I need to be able to reach you.”

“Try smoke signals, I’m sure you can figure it out,” he answers with a shrug, makes his way towards the back door.

They’ve both got their phones, fully charged, and he knows the park is close enough to the city to have decent reception. Like he said, he did his research.

* * *

They take Happy’s truck, and she drives because apparently the fact that his car landed a bad date with a missile doesn’t mean he’s allowed behind her wheel. He’s taken control of the music though, because he knows her default station is crappy punk rock music trying to rip off the Classics. He loves her, but he’s still got taste.

“Are you gonna tell me why you want to go hiking?” She asks. He glances over and sees that her hands are gripping at the wheel a little more tightly than usual. He didn’t mean for her to be nervous, but he also feels a little pleased that she’s so curious. More importantly, he really doesn’t want to have this conversation here on the 101.

“Can’t a devoted _fiancée-to-be_ simply take an interest in his sweetheart’s hobbies?” He replies, leaning over and pressing his lips gently to the side of her head. If he notices her hands tighten a little more, he’s not feeling smug by it. Well, not very.

“And besides, this seemed like the least dangerous of them,” he adds, leaning back in his seat.

Happy keeps driving without saying anything, not that he really expects her too. But after a moment, she moves one hand from the wheel and reaches out to take his.

* * *

Hiking is awful, and the only merit that comes from knowing this first-hand is that he was right.

He’d hoped that September would mean it wouldn’t be terribly hot, but it’s almost as though the sun is reflecting off the dirt trail and burning through his clothes.

“Why is this so steep?!” He asks between heavy breaths. Happy’s at least five feet ahead of him so he doesn’t even expect her to hear him.

But she stops, turns around, “You’re kidding, right?”

He looks up at her from under the brim of his hand, “The description said Scenic Trail!” This was where his research ended, him assuming this meant it was easy..

Happy raises an eyebrow, and he can pretty much hear the laugh she’s holding back. “A baby could do this faster than you,” she says, more matter-of-factly than mocking. But she waits in place until he catches up to her, and he finds it strangely touching.

After that she moves a little slower, letting him set the pace. He’s pretty sure they’re going much slower than she would have by herself, and that he’s doing a lot more talking, and wheezing, than she would by herself. But he can’t help it; complaining is his only way of coping with how uncomfortable he feels.

He’s stopped offering her water though, after she glared at him every time he did.

He kind of, maybe, could possibly see why she likes it though. It’s long and tiring, but there is something peaceful about it. And if the view is as nice as they say it is then maybe it’s worth the effort.

* * *

Finally they reach the top and the never-ending trail turns into a look out. There’s a gap in the trees and bushes, and beyond that there’s the ocean, bright and big and blue. He’s still gathering his breath, hand on his hips, when Happy sits down in front of the view. He follows her, pulls the pack off his back.

It’s not heavy per se, but he’s relieved to be taking stuff out of it. Also, he’s starving. He makes a point of pulling everything out, a presentation of his zealous preparation: he’s got subs and fruit and trail mix and more water. When he turns to her she’s watching him carefully, one eyebrow raised and a quirk in her lips. She’s impressed.

He hands her a sub, and a water bottle, and she takes both without a word. He takes the silence, knows that the rest will come later.

He’s halfway through his sub when she asks him again why they’re here. She’s dropped the rest of hers onto the wrapping on her lap, head turned towards him expectantly.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, locks his gaze with hers. “The view is pretty.”

It’s not his best work, he knows, but sometimes you just have to go for it.

He pauses though, and she lets him take his time. The silence between them is soft and spattered with distant sounds of other hikers, and birds that Sly could probably recognise. But the words are stalled in his throat until he drags his gaze away from her, looks back out towards the water.

“You know, I’ve narrowed it down to a shortlist. Of possible husbands,” he says, adding the last part for clarity, knows she doesn’t need it.

“Toby-”

He waves his hand to stop her, “I know it’s important to you not to tell me. And I’m respecting that. But it’s important to me to know.” He says. As much as he loves and trusts her, he can’t keep denying that this isn’t eating away at him. “Every day I walk into the garage and I look at the spot where the love of my life told me she was married to someone else. I can’t just let that go. I don’t know how.”

He wonders if she sees the confetti. Even after all the sweeping, there are still traces of it weeks later; the sparkles keep finding their way onto their shoes, following them home. He wonders if she wants to say anything, if she wants to tell him everything, if she thinks she’s protecting him.

“I realized that I’m spending all my time thinking about your husband,” he glances up at her. “And not enough time with you. Because you’re here, even if you’re married.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it. She’s here, with him. And he’ll take what he can get.

There’s a small huff, though it’s thoughtful not annoyed, and she reaches out between them and takes his hand in his for the second time today. “I’m here,” she agrees steadily, like she needs him to hear it. “If you need to keep looking for the guy, then I’m not going to stop you.”

He can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, her blessing for him to go Columbo on her mystery husband. He pulls his hand from hers and shuffles his whole body closer, wraps an arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss into her hair. He half expects her to complain that it’s too hot or they’re too sweaty, but she leans into him quietly.

* * *

When they get back to the entrance of the park, Happy’s truck is brutally hot from being parked in the sun, but he’ll gladly take it for the sweet relief of the soft seats. He knows this whole thing was his idea but still, he can’t really believe that people do this for fun.

“Home, please let’s go home,” he moans, and she grins smugly. Neither of them mentions that they have two homes.

They’ve only been on the road home for a short while, when Happy suddenly pulls over on the side of the road. He’s not asleep, just resting his eyes, so he has no idea what’s going on.

“Why are you stopping?” He asks, turning towards her.

Happy looks at him seriously, and then points out her window and across the road. It’s a small stand, a single table with a sun umbrella next to a van. “I want pie.”

“Do you even like pie?” He asks, but she’s already stepped out of the truck. He hastily undoes his seatbelt and hops out to follow her, catching up only when he reaches the stand.

“Since when do you like pie?” He asks again, still confused.

She shoots him a look, “Who doesn’t like pie?”

“She’s right!” The old man at the stall grins at them both, taking her couple of bills and handing her a large slice of pie. The sign says strawberry and rhubarb.

* * *

“This is good pie,” Happy mumbles, stuffing another bit of it into her mouth. They’re sitting on the back of her truck, because she refused to let him drive while she ate.

“I’m beginning to think you love that pie more than me,” Toby says, watching her eat carefully, adding _loves pie_ to his carefully constructed mental database of Happy Facts.

It’s actually kind of cute.

To his dismay, she doesn’t deny it; instead she just takes another bite. He narrows his eye carefully, coming up with a good quip about how maybe she’s married to the pie. But before he can say anything she leans over and kisses him, firm and fast, pulling away just as quickly.

_God, he loves her,_ is the first thing that pops into his head. The stress of the last couple of month has meant there’s been less of this, less gentle, playful intimacy. He figures it’s as much on him as it is on her, preoccupied with the truth, rather than the present. But still, he misses it.

But he doesn’t say that, figures it might be too much for one day. Instead he grabs at the pie in her hand, “Hey, that _is_ good pie!”

She relinquishes it hesitantly, but he can see the soft smile on her face, warmed by the evening sun, and he thinks maybe they’re on the same page here.

* * *

“Ahhh,” he winces as he leans back down onto the bed. They’re home, and he’s pulled most of his sweaty clothes off him and thrown them onto the floor. He’d considered having a shower, but now that he’s down, he’s definitely not getting up for a long time. His body has started to cool down properly, and _everything_ hurts. 

“Stop whining,” Happy mutters, but ditches most of her own gear before climbing onto the bed and lying down next to him. He manages to move his arm slightly, and she tucks herself in next to him. Her skin is soft against his, and her body is warm.

“Do you think Walter will let me stay home tomorrow? Because I really don’t see how I’m gonna be able to get out of this bed,” he muses, and half expects an elbow in his side or something. She doesn’t say anything though, just rests her hand on his chest, her fingers drumming softly near his heart.

“Thank you,” she says instead, the word so quiet and tender and hesitant that it somehow makes him nervous.

“For what?” He asks, “For being the most understanding boyfriend in existence? For being a kind and generous lover- oww!”

She whacks her hand across his ribs, not hard enough to really hurt, “For ruining the moment,” she says. And okay, maybe she has a point. He bites back any other words, lets her have the moment back.

“Thank you... for today. And for being here. I- I was scared you would leave when you knew.” He doesn’t have to see her face to know that she’s telling the truth and it leaves a tightness in his chest. She still doesn’t get it, not really.

His feelings for her are permanent, etched onto his heart and soul. It’s not like he has a choice. And even if he did, this, her, here is exactly what he would choose.

“Happy, there’s not a surprise husband in the world that can keep me from being with you. The only thing that could ever really stand between us is six feet of dirt.”

She slaps her hand across his chest again, harder this time. “ _Ow!_ What was that for?”

She shifts, and pushes herself up, so that she’s leaning over him, and locks her eyes with his. “You’re not going anywhere, especially not underground. Promise me.”

He thinks about all the times they’ve both nearly died in the last few years, can only imagine what else will happen to them before the year is up. But the look of absolute certainty on her face heartens him.

“Happy,” he breathes, smiles up at her. “I’m staying right here.”

He reaches a hand up to cup her cheek, and she leans, soft, warm, _here_ , into his touch.


End file.
